୨୧ something about her ୨୧

It's funny, because it's the first time Suo has wanted to fuck someone who's this scared of him. He has some awareness about what he's like and that he's too much for a beginner. Most people approach him for his remarkably obvious habits and interest in kinks, especially in places meant for others like him.

In bars and on dating apps, people approach Suo because they want a certain fantasy delivered.

Suo is good at giving people what they want. He gets off on it. People always want to date him over it even though Suo tells them he has no interest. People are scared of Suo during the act, when that's the point. When he's cold and distant but thorough and precise.

But you are not interested in any of these things. You're not aware enough of that sort of thing to even think of it. You're helplessly earnest all while being quiet and a little inattentive.

The kind of kinky shit Suo does get into, he's sure you're clueless about all of it.

And yet, you carry this weight around. Like you're afraid of what he'll do to you, but interested in it anyway. You're responsive when he flirts—bashful, even. It's a crush no doubt, a pure-hearted affair tainted by your physical needs.

It's cute. Cute how much you struggle against the weight of it, cute how much you fail to keep your guard up even when you're on such high alert. Cute enough to make him so very interested in you on all fronts.

Suo is not usually interested in the uninitiated but you make him feel helplessly mortal, all awkward laughter and fluttering nerves. You fumble and make jokes that don't land and you're trying so hard. Despite your inner conflict.

You're practically impossible for him to ignore. Something ripe and sweet. When he tugs you away from vine, he's sure you'll make a pretty, wet mess all over his fingers. Of course Suo can't help but want to eat you up, eat you whole, devour you until you shake.

He's sadistic enough to want to instill that fear you carry even deeper. To see you be scared of how fucking good he makes you feel.

So Suo makes his moves. Like a viper to a small mouse, he constricts you first. Makes you comfortable with flirting and light touches before putting the pressure on. Getting in your space and tempting you into soft kisses, convincing you to let him touch your skin just a little.

And like a frightened little mouse, you stop him before he can get too close to fucking you. Tell him you're not ready. Suo, ever the gentleman, smiles at you and pulls back. Kisses your temple adoringly.

"That's fine. I can wait for as long as you need," He hums, hand on your waist and his voice feather soft against your neck. "How about you come over and I touch you a bit? Ease you into it."

That much you agree too, with a wobbly smile and all the false courage in the world.

You meet Suo again on the following weekend. You bring a bottle of wine because you're a good house guest and then sit as far away from him on the couch as possible because you're so self-conscious. If it were anyone else, Suo would've given up.

But it's you so he finds it quite cute.

It's easy enough to get you to come closer. To kiss you. To rile you up. You're easy to turn on, no doubt a facet of your sincerity and Suo uses it to his advantage. Once it gets hot enough, you pull away again but Suo swoops in with a promise.

Just a little touching. Is that okay?

Getting you in his bed is the easy part. But Suo wants to play, so the rest is about convincing you to relax. He's gentle with you, careful - because he means it when he says he's just going to touch you.

(He does not mention that he will touch you in such a way you will beg him for more, nor that he wants to wreck and mistreat your poor weeping pussy so badly but he won't until ask.

And he's confident you will with time.)

He talks you through the restraints when he finally gets you to his room. He shimmies you out of your clothes and then teaches you about them and how to tell him if its too uncomfortable.

A thigh sling. It's a simple little restraint, with a thick strap that goes around the back of your neck, two cuffs for your hands and two more for your thighs to go through. It forces you into a position where your legs spread and it's comfortable enough even for a beginner.

He explains everything else. When he fastens you into the restraints and when he positions you. He tells you that the latex gloves will make it more comfortable for your first time and decides against explaining why that's a lie and that he's just being a freak.

With your legs spread at the edge of Suo's bed, he sits between them on a chair, perfect view of your pussy - he thinks that he's going to eat you alive someday.

Your cunt is split open, neatly trimmed hairs and covered in slick, sticky arousal. The petals of your folds part without him touching you, clit throbbing as the hair around smooths down from it. He's fascinated by how wet you are when he's hardly touched you, his eyes flickering up to the other evidence of painful arousal.

Your face is debauched. Mouth dropped open, lashes fluttery, hard nipples and haze. Suo nearly slips. Thinks about slipping you on fours and shoving his cock in you one go like a beast. He's never been so aroused by another human being. Sex has always been a matter of wish fulfillment and entertainment.

But Suo is attracted to you. In his bones, in his throat, it sears his lungs when he breathes. You're acting like this without him laying a hand on you. He has so much to show you.

He can make you feel so much better than this. The thought nearly kills him.

He lets his thumbs slip across the swell of your cunt, rubbing against the outside - away from where you want.

Black latex gloves don't let him feel skin.

Instead he feels the full extent of your lust dampening his gloves . There's no friction or resistance when he slides his thumb along your lips or through your folds - only the slippery sensation of your own increasing desires. You mewl, whimper unfamiliar and high as Suo inspects your pussy in all it's pretty perfection.

He stares at it, burning it into his brain with the thought of eating you out until you cry. He uses both hands to spread and see inside, pink pulsing as his thumb holds you open. His breath fans your cunt, hole fluttering in response. He can't tear his eyes way from seeing deeper than anyone else has gone. It makes his spine tingle.

"Can I use my fingers? Is that okay?"

"Yes-yes, please,"

Suo keeps his composure still. Barely. He pushes his gloved middle finger in first and feels his cock twitch with enough envy to make him laugh breathlessly. Your pussy clamps down on him, tight enough for him to slow as it resists. He feels around, opening you up slow until he can pump.

When he pulls away the black latex is shiny enough for him to see his reflection. He whistles at that and you whine over him but Suo pays it no mind.

It starts to sink in just how much it's turning you on when Suo slips two fingers in and you buck your hips up with unrepentant need. He's just touching you, just sliding two fingers in and pumping them - pressing them up against that spot that makes your eyes roll back into your head.

You thrash when he does it but Suo keeps steady and doesn't give you more until he's had his fill of seeing you like this. Seeing you gushing around his fingers, frothy slick down to the knuckles of his gloves as you tighten and twitch.

"Suo," You practically sob as you pitch your hips up, stuttering. "Please. Please, I can't."

Suo smiles, knuckles deep as he presses into your g-spot with purpose. "Please, what? Do you want me to make you cum?"

You make a noise that sounds like a yes, too muffled to be clear. He laughs lightly.

"Then say it. Ask me."

"C-can you please make me cum, Suo?" You plead, so diligent. So inexperienced, so stupidly sincere. Fuck. Fuck. When you're all prepped for him, eventually, he's going to fuck you well enough you'll pass out.

Suo keeps his composure even though his mind fills with some vision of you - kinky, brusied and battered and so fucked out you can't talk. "Of course I can, dear."

Suo let his other hand rest on your sex as his thumb draws meticulous circles on your clit.

It amuses him how fast you start to rush towards your orgasm as soon as you get the attention you need. You cry out so loudly the noise cuts out, leaving you in a silent scream as you buck your hips. Your cunt spasms with each pump and slide of his fingers against your gspot, fucking you merciless with fingers as he coos. You're soaking wet, sopping. He'll have to wring his sleeves of cum if you make anymore of a mess.

And Suo knows you will. You do. You squirt so hard it sprays. All over his ornate clothes. He looks down at the wet spot on his carpet, one large dark patch now paired with several drops and feels ecstatic.

You're beyond perfect for him. Its immeasurable.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Suo says, pulling his hands away. He lets the soaked latex pressed against your parted lips, messily playing with your tongue. "And it'll feel even better when I fuck you. So don't be scared, okay?"

And for a moment you must picture how being fucked by him will actually feel because the arousal spikes with pure, unadulterated fear.

It's perfect. A perfect look. Exactly what he wanted.

He's an athlete, so he's big. Wide chest and strong arms, thick thighs and the height to top it off. He's 6'3, and he's sexy (and his dick is huge) - and you sleep with him because of that. You don't date him explicitly because he's a womanizer. If you'd met when you were a little younger, a little more naive - you might've tried to dog-train him into being your boyfriend.

Because on top of the immaculate dick, he's fun to be around. He's funny, he drinks well, he's not a scumbag in the ways that turn you off.

You're old enough to know better. You have a career. You're too busy, and too jaded about love to try and fix whatever weird shit he has going on. So even if the two of you harbor some sort of emotional or romantic feelings for each other, you're smart enough to not get invested in those feelings and smart enough to have no expectations.

Oliver is your fun. He's your sneaky link, your weekend off. You come to him to blow off steam. You have rough, fast sex and it's good. Sometimes you chill afterwards, and you'll indulge each other in some physical affection but other times you take your shower and leave. It's a good time, and you know well enough not to ever ask him for any of your emotional needs. You have your therapist and girl friends for that.

Normally, when you're having a rough week - it's prime time to go to him. He'll fuck you a little harder than usual, and sometimes he's nice enough to kiss it better. But it's still, very distinctly, never crossing that boundary.

But some weeks, like this week - shit is bad. Not just stressful bad, but everything in the fucking world that could go wrong, is going wrong bad. It's not the kind of thing you can get over by compartmentalizing and even when you try to do your usual thing it doesn't really work.

You're trying right now - to get over the fucked up week you had. And you're turned on, but somehow - it's still not enough to get you completely out of it.

Oliver pauses mid stroke, in missionary - hetero-chromatic eyes staring you down as your thoughts are somewhere else completely. You don't notice the first time he stops, or the first time he calls you.

And he only gets your attention by cupping your face and making you look at him. You startle as you cast your glance his way.

"What's with you?" He asks, though he's not pissed or anything "Not feelin' it? Want me to stop?"

"No, you don't have too."

"Not what I asked," He chastises, letting go of your face "Not having your full attention is making me go soft,"

This makes you laugh, and Oliver cracks a smile seeing the tension melt off your face if only slightly.

"I'm cool with stopping." He assures. You let your hand reach up to his shoulder.

"It's not like I want to stop, necessarily? Like I wanna do something to get my mind off it and sex feels like the best option, but you know how it goes sometimes," You say, trying your best to avoid the emotional baggage of your words "We can stop though. I'll pay you for your wasted time," You tack the joke on at the end to ease the tension.

You're expecting him to pull out and stop, or maybe challenge himself into fucking you so good that you forget. Something more quintessentially Oliver than what he does do.

He gives you a blank look first, than a laugh that is a touch too sincere for you to be comfortable "That bad of a week?"

You're suddenly in dangerous territory. Somehow, this strange intimacy makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You swallow thickly, the emotions coming over you so quick you end up looking away.

"Yeah. You know. It's fine, but you know."

"Mm," He says. He leans into your space. His breath is warm and his stubble tickles your skin as he whispers in your ear. You feel your breath hitch. And the air feels heavy "Wanna try somethin' else?"

"Like what?"

"A surprise," He says first, and find your stomach tightening. A hollowness in your nerves "Gotta trust me."

"You're scaring me." You joke.

"I'm a sex expert, you know?" Oliver says, humming against your skin "If I can't remedy your little problem with my dick, it's bad for my street cred. My yelp reviews will tank."

"You're such a dumbass."

"Do you trust me?"

You don't know how to answer. Yes, for the most part. Not with everything, but with your pleasure at least. Whatever this is, it doesn't feel the same. But you say yes, anyways. Oliver kisses your jaw in reply, then he pulls out.

He flips position easily. He ends up on his back, then he grabs you to rest on top of him. You're not sure what you're expecting. He holds you by your hips as your sex hovers over his cock. His thumb is rubbing circles into your skin as he sinks you down slowly onto him.

You only stare at him, mouth opening as you feel him stretch you open for a second time.

You're more aware of it this way. He's so thick, and so intrusive - and normally, you're feeling that in hard strokes. Fast and rough, like something knocking into your cervix. But like this, he's hitting a deep angle. You can feel every curve, every inch, as you come down slowly.

He keeps you there. For longer than you'd expect. Just keeps you, settles you, holds you gently. You stare at him as he grabs your hand, locking your fingers. Your first instinct is to panic, or crack a joke - but there's an intense look in his eye that shuts you up.

Uncharacteristically gentle, you find yourself frightened. Oliver's hands reach for you again. They hold your waist and slide up the planes of your body. He holds your tits in his palms and squeezes.

He does this a lot, but there's not usually this much touching. This much foreplay. It's grabby, a deeper pressure. He doesn't...feel you, in the way he is now. You stare at him, and he looks back at you so fondly you feel a strange urge to pretend it never happened.

"Play with your clit," He says, though there's no urgency in his voice.

Deep and smooth, the timbre in it has you shaking. You listen, on auto-pilot as you play with yourself clumsily and build a slow pressure. He just watches.

"C'mere, baby. And don't stop touching yourself."

Another pause. It's not the first time he's called you that. He likes to call you all sorts of things when you're fucking, and baby is one of the few. But not like that. Not like this. He gives you a lazy, self satisfied smile and encourages you by placing a hand on where he can reach on your low back.

You lean down, and Oliver tucks you into his chest. He's warm, and strong - and smells so good, like musk and cologne. Your free hand is on his chest, as he grips your hips and fucks up into you.

"That's it," His voice is pleasant to your ears. It feels funny to you "Just gotta listen to me."

He starts fucking you slowly. It's a familiar feeling, a pleasant stretch that dulls into a euphoric fullness. But it's never been this slow before. Each thrust is slow, and punctual, and so deep you feel yourself gasping. It's not enough to push you over the edge, but it's enough to make your mind feel a little numb.

You think he's going to keep at you like this, maybe edge you to take you out of it. But he doesn't. He keeps his pace.

"Had a hard time this week, didn't you, tough girl?" He mumbles, so low it doesn't feel real. You feel your heart start to race. You feel your throat start to close around something, choking "Did a good job and came to me. Gonna let me take care of it?"

You stumble. You aren't sure what to say, you nod and hope he feels it. He laughs a little. You can't be sure if you're fucking Oliver or not.

You know it's him but he's never been like this. Not once. Not ever.

"Gonna let daddy take care of you?" He says, though it's tentative. Your breath hitches. Something strange overwhelms your senses "Tell me, baby."

"Uhm," Your first reaction is a sense of resistance, an immediate pull away. Not that you hate it but you aren't sure how to adjust. You squirm, but you don't tell him no. You feel like you can't in this state "Uh-uh,"

He keeps surprising you, pressing his lips to yours where you hover over him, tender as he ups the pace of his thrusts.

"That's what I like to hear," He almost sounds proud "You'll hurt your head if you think too much. And I'd be a bad daddy, letting that happen, yeah?"

A vulnerable, foreign sensation drives you to speak "You're not bad in that way."

He laughs "Just in other ways, right?"

You giggle "Uh-huh."

"But not in this one," He repeats, very carefully. He fucks into you harder now, pays extra special attention to you. It's all for you, is what he's saying in a language completely foreign yet somehow so known. One only the two of you will ever know fully, confined in the four walls of this room "Daddy is good at taking care of you like this, so you should let him do just that. Tough girls always need their daddies, hm?"

It's what ends up tipping you up over the edge. You cling to him, succumbing to whatever weird space the two of you have fallen into you. Suspended in this odd sense of comfort that Oliver has thrust you in unannounced.

You don't trust Oliver with a lot, and this is more than what you should ever find yourself giving. In the back of your head you think you should pull away.

But he's comforting. It feels good, and strangely feels safe - and even for all the ways he's awful, you trust he'd never do anything bad to you. Even if it's a blip in the timeline, for now it's what you need. A blurry cross into your emotional needs that translate into your physical ones. Too much and so overwhelming, you hug closer to him and take a deep breath.

"Mm," You let yourself lean into him. Just this once, you promise yourself. "I wanna cum."

"Want it a little harder?"

"Mhm,"

"Then Daddy will give it to you a little harder, yeah? Anything for you." He says, and you try not to think to deeply on what that really means. Because even in this state you know it's not nothing, but you should never pry "Daddy can give you anything you want."

"Yeah?"

He chuckles a little as he fucks into you hard. Fucks into you how you need. You're wet enough, and wondering if you were always so into being doted on. Or if it's just the fact that it's Oliver. Another thing you decide to overlook as you zero in on the sensation of being pistoned from underneath. You're soaking. The room noisy with the sticky noise of Olivers cock penetrating you over and over, skin hitting skin as his hips press against your ass. His grip is bruising but not intentionally, his chest huffed in pleasure.

He's just as close as you are, you know all of his cues. You play with your clit faster, sensitive bud throbbing hard as all the blood rushes south. Your mouth has fallen open as the slow, thick desire coiling and culminating into something cosmic. Something big and heavy, but not too fast. Not a crash landing like you're used to.

But a single weight, the force of a star dropping to Earth. You figure Oliver is the gravity in your universe, holding you down so you don't float too far. You want to cling onto him for much longer.

And somehow, you're inclined to think he would let you.

"Oliver," You say his name as it builds, then decide on something else "Daddy,"

"I'm here, baby," He says back, like it's all he has to say for everything to make sense when nothing about this does "I'm right here. Let go."

So you do. You cum hard, and it comes in long never ending waves. Too much. It makes you collapse in Olivers arms, both arms coming around his neck as he continues to fuck you through the aftermath.

"Gonna," He voices, rasping as his thrusts become sloppy "Shit. Cumming, shit."

He cums with you, cums deep inside like usual and you mewl at the feeling of being filled with hot, sticky seed.

When it's over, you're almost afraid to look at him. When the tensions settled, and his chest goes back to it's steady breaths - you wonder whats going to happen next.

"Wanna stay like this for a while?"

You nod.

"Mm. Sleepy."

"Stay like this, then. I'll wake you in a little."

"So you can kick me out?" You joke, trying to pretend nothing is different. He pauses.

"Just to shower," He whispers, hand resting on your lower back "Sleep."

There's too much to think about. Tomorrow will be strange. You let yourself succumb to your own exhaustion.

"Okay."